


Six First Kisses

by effystonem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effystonem/pseuds/effystonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Sherlock, kisses are checkpoints, and the beauty is in the journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six First Kisses

 

 01.

The first time Sherlock kissed John, they were standing in the middle of the street. It was pitch black out and the road was slick with rainwater and they were breathing hard and bending over. It was the exhiliration, the thrill of the chase, the triumph of the night that filled the empty streets. Even the dim streetlights couldn't fail to make John look beautiful. He was always so damn beautiful. Sherlock grinned at him, and suddenly they were laughing, gasping for breath and looking at each other, all sparkling eyes and ruffled hair. And then Sherlock leaned in spur-of-the-moment and pressed his lips to John's, closed mouth and sweet. He pulled away after a second and smiled at the ground, blushing. Falling silent, they walked home side by side, hands desperately close to touching, spark still fizzling in the air.

 

02.

The second time it happened, John was upset. Sherlock had barely gotten there in time to save him and take out his kidnappers. He would never forget the look on John's face when he walked in... it was like something inside him just  _crumpled._ It was sadness, anger, relief, hope, everything at once. Sherlock rushed to untie him from the chair and John sprang up and collapsed into Sherlock, shaking. Sherlock held him, comforted him in low tones, buried his face in John's hair. It came naturally, to him, comforting John. He could smell John's shampoo and the blood in his hairline. Sherlock shifted his head only slightly and planted a firm kiss on John's forehead, squeezing him closer. When they parted at last, John didn't say anything about it, but for the rest of the week he sat closer to Sherlock in cabs. 

 

03.

The third time Sherlock kissed John, Sherlock feared he would insist on talking about it, or at the very least make a comment. Instead, when Sherlock reflexively leant over John's chair and kissed him on the cheek before leaving the flat, John said goodbye in reply, as if kisses goodbye between friends were perfectly normal. Sherlock's face burned on the way downstairs when he realized what he did. He chastised himself, for a while, for acting without thinking. And when he was finished being embarrassed, all that was on his mind for the rest of the day is John's scruff on his lips, John's receptiveness, and the fact that John didn't protest. Maybe, just maybe, John felt the same way. But Sherlock had been let down in that department before. He pushed the hope out of his mind and focused on the case.

 

04.

The fourth time it happens, it's John who kisses Sherlock instead of the other way around. They had dinner at Angelo's,  _in public,_ and Sherlock is rattling on about a case when John leant in and pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock stopped talking and stared at him for a long, long moment, until John began to get worried. John began to apologize and Sherlock stopped him with a chaste kiss in reply. John smiled into his mouth, and like that, they were apart again, across the table from each other which seemed like light years away, talking about work again. Sherlock figured that John was attracted to him, physically and emotionally, but had trouble accepting it, and he'd rather just act than talk about it or work out his feelings. Sherlock, for one, didn't mind. At all.

 

05.

The fifth time, it's the kiss that changed things. The tension in the room all night was palpable, thicker than blood in the air between them and stifling any attempts at normal conversation. John was on his way to the kitchen and Sherlock was on his way out when they crossed paths, brushing shoulders just the slightest bit. It was like something snapped in Sherlock, and he whipped around, grabbed John by his hair, and threw their lips together, kissing like they would never get another chance, tugging at his hair and scratching his skin and grabbing fistfuls of his jumper. They had both waited so long it was like relief. It was messy, and uncoordinated, and desperate, but it was perfect. Sherlock hadn't expected any less. _  
_

06. 

The sixth kiss, the last of the first kisses, was the following morning, lying in Sherlock's bed, golden light infiltrating the room and birds chirping outside. Sherlock's bed was a tangle of limbs and sheets, intertwined legs, fingers loosely clasped together. John wasn't awake yet, his breathing was still steady, and he would probably be out for a while more. Sherlock had dreamed of this for so long, waking up to this, to John Watson in his bed. John Watson's feet touching his, John Watson's hand resting on top of his own. And simply because he wasn't sure if he would get the chance to do this again, Sherlock leaned over and planted a trail of kisses up his shoulder and onto his scar. Nothing in his life had been nearly as sweet as that moment.


End file.
